


dive right in

by vype



Category: Doctor Who (2005), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Crossover, Gen, Wholock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-28
Updated: 2013-07-28
Packaged: 2017-12-21 15:31:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/901914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vype/pseuds/vype
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"Do you ‘not-existing-anymore people’ have get togethers or something? Is that how you meet each other?"</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>"Amy," Rory says, in a tone of voice that suggests mild exasperation.</i>
</p>
<p>Yet another Molly-as-companion fic</p>
            </blockquote>





	dive right in

It isn’t white, because technically nothing here exists. This doesn’t exist. But he can’t really comprehend that yet- _he doesn’t exist_ \- but until he does, he perceives this all as whiteness. Empty, vast white, with bits and pieces of things that don’t exist anymore, have never existed. Things like hopes and dreams and pain and sorrow, like people who got left behind and people where they shouldn’t be, like plastic Romans and fish custard and only five minutes.

The TARDIS is with him. It’s one small comfort.

"Just a bit longer, old girl," the Doctor whispers as he places a hand on the bluest blue box he’s ever seen. “You know Amelia. She’ll have us back."

The TARDIS hums and she’s glowing inside, like she’s saying, _"I know."_

"But until then," the Doctor says, whirling around to face the expanse, “we’ve got time to spare. What do you think about another adventure?"

And now the TARDIS is saying, _"Yes."_ Just like old times.

-

He sees people around. He doesn’t get close to them, usually, because they don’t always want him nearby. Many of them are caught up in memories; just because they don’t exist, doesn’t mean that they weren’t people. Aren’t. Weren’t. Well, yes. So the Doctor leaves them alone because he still doesn’t know how to deal with his grief, much less help other people with theirs. So he wanders, his floating blue box following faithfully behind him.

The next person he meets is a woman. She looks plain. Pretty, but plain. Ordinary. She is standing with her hands in the pockets of her lab coat, clutching a small folder full of papers in her hands. He would have just passed her by, if it hadn’t been for the fact that she was smiling.

It was a sad smile, a bit self-loathing, a bit hoping. The Doctor recognizes that smile; he occasionally sees it in the mirror. This is why he stops.

"Hello," he says, when he gets close enough. She looks up to him and the TARDIS, and looks back down to the papers. The smile flickers, momentarily, grows brighter with fake pleasantness. Like a lightbulb, because a lightbulb will never be the sun.

"Hello," she says back, bringing her gaze back to him.

"I’m the Doctor," because there isn’t really much else to say. What else can he ask her: _How are you? How did you get erased from reality? What’s it like to have never existed?_

"I’m Molly Hooper." She briefly looks back down to the papers, and sighs. There is a wistful look in her eyes that he sometimes sees in the mirror. “There’s this one word, Spanish or Portuguese or something like that. I might have heard it in a poem or a song somewhere," she continues. “It’s the feeling you get when you really miss something that you had, and you know it’s never coming back. Do you know?"

He swallows, because he knows this feeling very well. “Yeah," he says. “Saudade."

"That was it," Molly says. “It’s a beautiful word. And I just wonder, is there even one person, just one, who feels saudade for me? Or am I just so insignificant? Little Molly Hooper who stepped on a crack on the floor, who nobody will ever remember because she isn’t worth remembering." She laughs a little, broken and interwoven with self-pity.

The Doctor looks at her, and shakes his head. “Molly Hooper, no matter who you are or what you have and haven’t done, there are always people for you. You are brilliant and you always matter."

She looks at him like he has no idea what he’s talking about. “I don’t," she says, matter-of-fact and frowning. “I’ve never mattered."

Well, he can’t have that attitude, can he?

"The French have this wonderful little phrase. Oh, and before I forget, saudade is Portuguese. But anyway, back to French. It’s l’appel du vide. Brilliant phrase, doesn’t it just roll off the tongue?" He gives her a small grin. “But anyway, it means ‘the call of the void’ in English. It’s that feeling you get, when you’re high up in the air, looking over the roof of a building or the edge of a cliff. It’s that urge to _jump._ "

His smile widens. “I have a brilliant friend, Amelia Pond. She is going to bring us back, the TARDIS and I," he says, gesturing to his beautiful blue box. “And we always have room for passengers." The Doctor spins back around to face her, the smile on his face the widest it has been in a while. “Do you hear the call of the void, Molly Hooper? Do you want to jump?"

He extends his hand.

She doesn’t say anything, but when she takes his hand, her eyes are smiling too.

-

"You speak Portuguese?" Molly asks, once they’ve gone through the ‘it’s-bigger-on-the-inside’ routine. 

"I speak everything, actually."

"Really?"

"Yep! English, Portuguese, French, Martian; every language you can think of and I bet a couple thousand you can’t." He smiles at her.

"Martian." However, she seems to realize that she’s just stepped into a police box that’s bigger on the inside than the outside, and did meet the Doctor by stepping into a crack on the floor of St. Bart’s, which has apparently erased her from all of history and existence. She lowers her eyebrow. “You’re an alien?"

"Oh, yes. Just your regular Time Lord, me. Anyway!" He spins around, eventually tuning to face one of the many, many corridors that branch out from the console room. “We need clothes."

Molly looks down at herself.

"Oh, nonono, not like that," the Doctor says. “We’re going to the wedding, you see. So we need proper wedding clothes. Not for our wedding. For the Ponds. Did I tell you about Amelia?"

"Yes," Molly replies.

The Doctor doesn’t answer her for a while, and makes his way down one of the corridors. Molly trails two and a half steps behind him. He tilts his head, observes a few of the doors lining the hallway. “No," he mutters, quickly stepping past the nearest door, a brown mahogany one.

"No, not this one," to the handle with a ‘do not disturb’ sign.

"Nope," at the purple door, at the one with a picture of a duck on it, at the one that says **CLOSET** in wonky letters.

"That one was a closet," Molly points out.

"It’s not the right closet."

"How many closets do you have?"

"… I’m not sure." He looks around a bit more, frowning in vexation. “But I can’t seem to find mine. You’re not being petulant, are you?" he asks, placing a hand on a wall. She knows he’s not talking to her.

Molly gets the utterly strange feeling of a giggle being injected directly into her brain. It feels rather like a soap bubble popping.

"Ah!" The Doctor, backtracking just a bit, takes a few long steps over to the opposite side of the corridor where a single door waits. It’s as blue as the TARDIS itself, with a round brass knob, and Molly is quite sure that they hadn’t passed it on their way down here.

"Closet!" the Doctor says happily, throwing open the door. “Now, let’s go get dressed. Wedding clothes, you know."

"Me too?" Molly furrows her brow. He looks at her strangely.

"Well of course you too. Lab coats aren’t very wedding-ish clothes, are they? Although, there is this one planet sort of nearby Earth, kind of; lab coats are very fashionable there, maybe I should take you there some day, how does that sound?"

"Er…"

"But anyway, wedding now! Any minute Pond is going to have us back, so we’d better hurry. Take your pick, Molly Hooper, go ahead." The Doctor waves her into the massive walk-in closet. “I’ve got loads of old things just lying about. Not as if anyone’s going to use them again."

Molly stares at him, and he just smiles wider and motions to the gargantuan pile of clothes in the center of the room. She stares at it, back at him, back to the clothes, then back to him. And then she shrugs.

"All right."

-

"What do you think?" the Doctor says, spinning around and throwing his arms out. “Looks good, eh?"

Molly politely doesn’t respond for about ten seconds. Then: “A fez?"

"Fezzes are cool!" he protests.

"If you say so. But I don’t think a bright red fez is appropriate for a wedding. Neither are braces, for that matter."

"Fezzes are always appropriate," he insists. He pouts at her. “But fine. I still want a hat."

Molly looks over the pile. “Hm. All right. What about this?" She picks up an old top hat, shaking off miniature sandstorms of dust, brushing even more off with one hand. When she deems it suitably clean, she hands it to the Doctor, who tries the ancient hat on after a moment of hesitation.

"Very smart," Molly says. The Doctor examines himself in a nearby mirror, rocking on the balls of his feet and leaning forwards and backwards. He hums in thought for a short while, turning his head left and right to check out different angles.

"Not bad," he admits, eventually. “Not bad at all. You, Molly Hooper, have a very good sense of taste."

She should leave it at that, but she doesn’t. Maybe it’s the warm dizziness in her head that compels her to say it. Maybe it’s because he’s an utter madman, impossible and brilliant, but mad nonetheless. A genius with no regard for social norms, who sometimes speaks too fast to be understood- where has she heard this before?

"You should try a scarf," she adds.

He looks at her, maybe in surprise. Or maybe, he is dissecting her like she would a corpse, like geniuses do to ordinary people. It makes her feel very small, and very young.

"Maybe I will," he says, at last.

-

"Hello! I’m Amelia’s imaginary friend but I came anyway." The Doctor stops, abruptly. “Oh, and I’ve brought a friend. Say hello to Molly Hooper!" He looks to the TARDIS, making a beckoning motion with his hand. “Well, come on, Molly. Time to meet the bride and groom!"

Molly steps out of the TARDIS, smiling self-consciously and smoothing down her cream and gold dress. All eyes immediately swing to her. She waves. “Hi."

-

It’s later that night, and they’re all sitting inside the TARDIS- they’ve just landed somewhere and are waiting patiently while the Doctor runs around the console pushing buttons and toggling levers and generally looking like a child in an Easter egg hunt.

"So, Molly, was it?" Amy asks. “How’d you meet the oaf?"

"I stepped on a crack in the floor and I didn’t exist anymore," Molly says. Maybe it’ll be a little longer until the shock kicks in. Five more minutes, probably.

"Do you ‘not-existing-anymore people’ have get togethers or something? Is that how you meet each other?"

"Amy," Rory says, in a tone of voice that suggests mild exasperation.

"Ponds! Molly Hooper! Come on!" The Doctor lifts his head up and grins at them, skipping to the door and pulling it open with a flourish. “We’ve got a queen to save!"


End file.
